Chapter 4: Pain

The twilight of morning was greeted by a still tired, and very awake Featherweight, whose eyes were bloodshot, and his bed was damp and reeking from seven hours of cold sweat. There was little sleep to be had after his nightmare. Sleep avoided him like the plague, though not without taunting him during their game of cat and mouse. Ultimately, Featherweight was exhausted and fatigued. He turned his body away from the unusually bright sun and muttered various threats to the light that blinded him whenever he opened his eyes.

Can’t... concentrate on…anything... Sun too bright...

Birds too loud...

Can’t it all go away?

The beauty of the world that he adored and respected only 24 hours before now was completely distorted and tainted by his intoxicating pain and tiredness.

Time had become a foreign concept to him. He couldn’t look over to the clock on the wall now, because it was in the same direction of the sun torrenting through the window. All he could do to confirm that he wasn’t stuck in an everlasting moment of discomfort was look at the shadows shifting in the room. Light began to reflect into his vision every so often which fatigued him more, making him shift in his bed. He looked to what the light was reflecting off of. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped.

The nightstand had become an unceremonious shrine for his camera. The cracked lens reflecting light at odd angles, but still shimmering. T-that. That is just cruel. he thought to himself.

Tears tried to form, but he had depleted his reserves throughout the night. All that remained was a silent rage that made Featherweight shiver and tremble. The camera itself looked intact, but a cracked lens rendered it to becoming just a fancy mechanical box. Featherweight curled up into a ball in an attempt to protect himself from the world that was hammering him down further into the ground like a railway spike.

A loud, near thunderous booming panged Featherweight's ears, distracting him from his broken device. Only, lightning didn’t follow suit, rather a pony walked into his room, carrying a tray of food toward him. “Good morning!” The nursing assistant said cheerfully, her voice making him physically wince and cringe away. “Oh. I’m so sorry,” she hushed her voice . She took a look at the chart that was on his bed and quietly tip-hoofed her way around the room. “Here you are, sweetie. Breakfast,” she whispered even quieter to him since she had gotten closer.

The tray was placed in front of him, and it quickly reminded him that he hadn't had anything to eat in over a day. His stomach growled and his mouth watered just at the smell of the oatmeal and juice that was before him. “T-thank you,” he choked out, his voice wavering and raspy from the screaming last night.

The nursing assistant smiled at him warmly, being the one glimpse of beauty that the world can offer. A glimpse that he was deprived of for far too long. She wasn't a model. Her looks had no factor into her beauty. It was the feeling that he got off of her, like she is there for him, there to help him and care for him, that made up her beauty. “Not a problem. If you don't mind, I am going to need to take your blood pressure. Is it ok for me to do so?” She asked as Featherweight eyed his food, clearly wanting to tear into it as soon as possible. “You are welcome to eat while I take it,” She added.

Featherweight immediately nodded and stuck out the foreleg closest to her so she could wrap a cuff around it while he got to work on eating his oatmeal.

The mare fiddled with the sphygmomanometer and soon managed to get Featherweight's readings, committing them to memory and taking off the cuff. “Alright, Mr. Featherweight. I’m all finished. I’ll be back in about ten,” she whispered, looking over to the colt who was devouring the oatmeal. “Maybe five, to pick up your tray. Is there anything I can do for you before I leave?” She asked, her voice managing to stay caring while being soft and delicate.

“The... the curtains. Can you close them?” Featherweight asked after swallowing. “The light is really annoying me.”

The mare glanced over to the window and her smile faltered for a moment. She recovered and looked to Feather. “I’m sorry, but the blinds are already closed. I could put another cover over them if you’d like?”

“Yes. Please. Thanks, miss…” Featherweight didn't know her name. Of course, he hadn't been in the mood to ask when she first came in, and he felt guilty now.

“Pram” she crooned.

“Pram. Thank you.” He said as a flash of warmth spread throughout his body. It wasn't a new feeling, just a feeling that could be appreciated by him now. The warmth felt nice even if it's benevolent source seared pain into his already pounding head.

Pram nodded to him and silently backed out of the room to let him eat in privacy. Once she exited, the chart came out and she recorded his complaint of light sensitivity.

Five minutes later, the food was cleared and the doctor was in the dark room with Featherweight. “It is good to see you in a better condition than yesterday, little fella” the doctor whispered.

Featherweight blushed, his eyes not paying attention to the white coated pony for too long, jumping between his cracked camera and the stallion. “W-why is the light so bright? That isn't normal,” he began. “It's hard to focus. I j-just can't keep my eyes open to pay attention to one thing for a long time. Why am I hurting so much?”

The flurry of questions was expected by the doctor, who smiled, “It is all a part of the concussion. I know that those are never any fun, since there are few things you can do to treat one except rest and pain medications,” he stated. The doctor observed the colt a bit closer due to the dim light. “Did you sleep well last night?” He asked, eying the bloodshot and droopy eyes that stared back at him.

“I'm-I’m really not sure. I think I got a bit of sleep, but I stayed awake for a decent part of the night. I don’t know how long I've been up.” Featherweight said, a bit panicked.

“Around eight hours so far, doctor,” Pram said, chart in hoof, reading the night reports of Featherweight's outbursts. Her professional blank stare cracked in front of Featherweight as concern became evident on her face for both the doctor and the colt to see.

“I see,” the doctor whispered as only microfractures of empathy leaked from his face’s form. “Well that is not a good sleeping schedule for a growing lad like you! How about we get you something that will help you get some sleep. Does that sound good?”

Featherweight nodded, his worn out body tingling and yearning for the rest that it had been starved of. He started breathing a bit harder due to the excitement of the idea that he would escape the thorns of pain that constantly stabbed his head. A faint smile broke out across his face.

The doctor smiled back, looking briefly back at pram and nodding for her to grab a nurse who could administer the sedative. “Now as I have been told, you will be having a visitor coming around,” he broke his look to take a peek at the clock, “Six or so hours from now. I will just make sure to tell him that you were told to get a lot of rest to recover, so he doesn’t get worried. Does that sound alright to you?”

Featherweight tried once again to focus on the doctor, but failed. He did manage to see, however, that the doctor had a different feeling about him from Pram. A sense that he was there to prove something. Feather had little idea as to what, so he didn’t dwell on it. He knows how to comfort ponies. It feels almost as if he had to learn how, though. Out of a book or something,” He thought. “Yeah. Thank you, doctor,”

The doctor got up and sighed, “Well, if I were to predict, and predict I will, I would say that you should recover in a week or so. But we will keep you here for a day or two more, just so we are safe. I will let the nurse come in and get you all set up for sleep. I hope you have a good rest, Featherweight,” he said as he departed.

After the doctor left, Featherweight went back to looking at his camera, trying to will it with his mind to repair itself. All that did was leave a pit of anxiety and bitterness in his stomach.

Silence.

Featherweight closed his eyes and just listened. The whirring of the machines in his room finally became apparent and distinguishable. Chatter from outside of his room was there, but muffled. Hoofsteps and unrecognizable voices merged and formed into a symphony of business as usual. Pagers on the intercom for doctors and nurses chimed incessantly. The beauty of organized chaos was interrupted by a knock on his room door.

Featherweight opened his eyes to see nurse Redheart smiling from the doorway, “I’m sorry. Did I disturb you?” She asked, walking in with a capped syringe in hoof.

“No. I was just listening. Is that going to help me sleep?” He asked as he pointed to the needle. A warm excitement flowed through him as he anticipated a poke and then relief.

“Yes, indeed it is. Don’t worry, I won’t need to poke you. I can just put this into your IV,” She explained as she tested the syringe for bubbles, “and in a minute or so, you can finally get some rest,” She said, the liquid flowing from the needle into his body. “In the meantime, could you count back from 15 for me?” She asked, ejecting the needle from his IV

Featherweight felt a warmth flow through him, making him giggle. “Sure. Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven…..” Lights out.

Nurse Redheart smiled and closed the privacy curtains, letting Featherweight get some long needed sleep.

……….

‘Running. I’m running now. Why am I running?’ Featherweight asked himself as he looked back for a moment to see the plume of dust barreling towards him. ‘Oh right. That’s why. I forgot. How could I forget?’ He thought, the world moving past him like a blur.

His stomach ached. His lungs burned from overexertion. Sweat dripped from his body, but most disheartening, his head hurt. His pulse pounded perpetually in his temples as a clawing feeling ripped away at his head from the inside. He hadn’t escaped the pain, rather he gave it a new way to torture him. Each pang that sleged against his head weakened his legs, threatening him with tripping or collapsing. I can’t do that. ‘I need to keep running’ Tears welled up in his eyes as he fought off the inviting idea of stopping, of resting.

Through the haze of delirium and the pounding of his heart, he could still hear the thundering blitz of hooves stomping behind him, motivating him to keep going, just for a bit longer. He just needed to keep moving a bit longer and then can he rest.

The tumbling came closer from behind him, crushing his dream of making it out alive. Featherweight didn’t have to, and didn’t want to for that matter, looking back to see the herd. The rumbling and huffing of them was soul crushing enough. To see their frenzied looks and pounding hooves inch closer and closer would make him give up then and there.

Featherweight had little energy or time to think. His body was running on fumes and everything was burning. Muscles tore, bones weaned, and sinew cracked as he continued on this, what felt like a hopeless run for his life. So this is what Miss Cherliee meant when she said fight or flig-...OH I AM AN IDIOT!’ He yelled, stretching his neglected appendages and getting a bit of drag from them, making him inch closer to the stampede. Flapping his wings, Featherweight boosted himself into the air with what little strength he had left in his legs. Furiously, his small wings moved to gain as much vertical space from the stampede as possible.

He reached small cloud level and landed down on a slowly moving statocumulos, choking almost as he sucked in air, looking down at the stampede moving further and further into the distance. Tears streamed down his face as he managed to regain enough breath to start laughing. He laid on his back, staring up at the higher clouds as they shifted in and out of the dark spots in his vision. Pain struck him harder and harder like a jackhammer in his head, making the tears keep flowing as his laughing contorted and twisted in his throat to become a far more visceral weeping.

The pain got worse and worse as the endorphins and adrenaline wore off, his form lying fetal on the cloud as he clutched and clawed at his head to make the pain go away. All alone. The skies were clear and the roads were vacant of travellers, leaving his screams to be pitied by the clouds and the birds.

‘I escaped! I didn’t get trampled by the cows! Why does this feel worse!?’ His thoughts screamed at him, all discombobulated by the invisible nail being scraped inside of his head.

“Make it stop!” He cried continuously on his lone cloud, hoping that somepony would be there and be able to make it all go away; make the pain just stop.

No pony came as the sun set, leaving Featherweight quaking on the cloud, unable to do anything except rock himself to get an inkling of comfort from somepony, even if it was only himself. He was trapped in his mind; his own personal hell.

……….

No pony should ever wake up feeling exhausted. No pony should be soaked clean through their fur in sweat. No pony should ever have to wipe tears from their eyes that they didn’t know they had made. Featherweight’s heart raced as he tried to regain his sense of surrounding, his head pounding and his body shaking. Pain wracked and sawed through him and made him call out for someone to make it go away. Clutching his head, he felt a hoof wrap around his own and around his neck.

A brown and mottled creme colored blur popped into his vision and tried its best to calm him down, to reassure him that the nurses will be there and that things will be ok. Featherweight grabbed onto that blur, he held it tight in a pained embrace, crying deep into its shoulder, pleading to just make the pain end.

Author's Note

Sorry this one took so long to finish. I had a rough time working everything through in my head. It pleases me to know that I have gotten this far with a story. Thank you all who are reading this and, please, leave a comment about it. Feedback is indispensable.